Chapter 17 #2
They're having a snoring competition and they don't even know it. Back and forth like a gentle symphony. Grayson's soft whistling snore followed by Nash's deeper rumble. It's oddly satisfying to listen to. Soothing in a way that makes me want to smile despite the pounding in my head.
The floor is still damp in places—I can see dark patches on the hardwood where water hasn't fully dried.
There are towels everywhere, scattered like someone did their best to clean up but ran out of energy halfway through.
My bathroom door is wide open and I can see more towels inside, piled on the floor.
The damage is probably going to cost a fortune to fix. Water damage, potential mold, the floor warping. My landlord is going to kill me. I can't afford repairs like this. I can barely afford my rent. This is a disaster on top of all my other disasters.
My gaze continues sweeping the room until my half-open eyes land on the third figure.
Theo.
He's sitting in my desk chair—the cheap plastic one I got from a thrift store that wobbles if you lean back too far. But he's sitting perfectly still, perfectly upright. Alert. Watching me.
He's the only one awake.
We just stare at one another. Neither of us moving. Neither of us speaking. Just locked in this eye contact that feels like it lasts for eons even though it's probably only a few seconds.
His olive eyes are intense in the dim lighting from my one lamp that's still on. I can't read his expression. Can't tell if he's relieved I'm awake or worried about something or just tired. There's something guarded about the way he's looking at me. Something careful.
I wonder if I'm hallucinating. If maybe I'm still unconscious and this is all some fever dream brought on by head trauma. Because what are the odds that three Alphas are in my apartment watching over me like I'm something precious worth protecting?
But then he finally moves.
He presses a finger to his lips. The universal gesture for quiet. Shh. Don't wake the others.
Then he mouths at me, his lips forming the words clearly even without sound: "Are you okay?"
Am I okay? I mean, my head feels like someone's using it as a drum.
I'm wearing Christmas pajamas I don't remember putting on.
My apartment is flooded and probably damaged beyond repair.
Three Alphas I barely know are sleeping in my living room like they belong here. But physically? Yeah, I guess I'm okay.
I nod slowly. Carefully. Don't want to make the headache worse.
He mouths another question: "Can you stand?"
Can I stand? Good question. I do a quick internal assessment. No dizziness when I moved to sit up. No nausea. No double vision or confusion beyond the normal 'why are there Alphas in my apartment' confusion. Just the migraine and general exhaustion. I think I can stand. Probably. Maybe.
I nod again.
He gets up from the chair with fluid grace that makes absolutely no sound. Like he's a ghost or a ninja or someone who's had extensive training in moving silently.
It's odd—surreal, actually—because it's so completely silent. He doesn't make a single sound as he walks across my apartment toward me. Like he knows every crack in the floorboard. Every spot that might creak. Every place where the damp wood might groan under weight.
Military training. Has to be. Nobody moves like that naturally. This is someone who's had to be quiet to survive. Who's learned that sound equals danger in certain situations.
I try not to think about how much repairing the floor is going to cost. Try not to spiral into anxiety about money I don't have and damages I can't afford and landlords who are going to evict me for flooding the apartment below mine. One crisis at a time, Reverie. One crisis at a time.
When he reaches me, he doesn't hesitate. Just bends down and scoops me up like I weigh nothing. Like I'm made of feathers and air instead of flesh and bone and anxiety.
He makes it look effortless. One arm under my knees, one behind my back, lifting me against his chest with the kind of strength that makes my hindbrain purr with appreciation.
All I have to do is keep silent. Don't make noise. Don't wake Grayson and Nash who clearly need the sleep. Let Theo carry me wherever he's planning to take me.
He carries me across the apartment—still completely silent despite carrying my weight—toward the only door besides the bathroom. My bedroom. The tiny space that's barely big enough for my bed and a small dresser.
He nudges the door open with his shoulder, steps inside, and lowers me to my bed with surprising gentleness. The mattress dips under my weight. My pillows smell like me—vanilla buttercream and that cheap laundry detergent I buy in bulk.
Then he disappears back into the main room.
I lie there for a moment, wondering if I imagined that. If maybe I'm still unconscious and this is all some elaborate dream my brain conjured up.
But then he's back, holding a glass of water that he must have gotten from my kitchen.
He offers it to me without words. Just holds it out.
I take it gratefully, realizing my mouth is desert-dry and my throat feels like sandpaper. I drink half the glass in one go, the cool water soothing and perfect.
Then he produces two pills from his pocket. Small. White. Probably ibuprofen or acetaminophen.
I arch an eyebrow at him. The universal expression for 'what are these and why should I trust you?'
He leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Headache?"
I nod. Because yes, obviously, massive headache.
"It'll help," he murmurs, his voice rough like he hasn't talked in hours. "Anti-inflammatories. Safe for Omegas."
He's thought about whether they're safe for Omegas. Has taken the time to make sure he's not giving me something that could interact badly with my biology or suppressants or whatever. That's... kind of sweet, actually.
I take the pills, pop them in my mouth, and wash them down with the rest of the water.
He takes the empty glass from me, sets it on my dresser.
I relax back into my pillows, letting the softness envelop me. My bed is so comfy. Like, objectively terrible—just a cheap mattress on a frame from IKEA—but right now it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world.
Theo turns to leave. Heading back toward the door to return to his vigil in my living room presumably.
"Theo." His name comes out barely louder than a breath.
He stops. Looks back at me. The lamp from the living room casts his face in shadow, making his expression hard to read.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" I ask quietly.
He frowns slightly. Like the question surprises him. Like nobody's asked him that before or like he doesn't have a good answer.
But surprisingly, he answers. "Not good at sleeping."
Not good at sleeping. What does that even mean? Insomnia? Nightmares? PTSD from whatever he experienced in the military? I want to ask but my eyes are already drooping and my thoughts are getting fuzzy around the edges.
But I force my eyes to stay open. Force myself to focus on him standing there in my doorway looking like he's about to leave.
I pat the bed beside me. The invitation clear even without words.
"Want to cuddle?" The words come out slightly slurred. Exhaustion making me bold in ways I probably wouldn't be if I was fully conscious.
He stares at me. Just stares for a long moment like I've spoken in a foreign language.
Then: "I don't cuddle."
I don't cuddle. Said with such finality. Such conviction. Like it's a law of the universe that Theodore Wright does not engage in cuddling under any circumstances.
I smirk despite the headache. Can't help it. The stubbornness is kind of adorable.
"It's a holiday tradition," I inform him seriously. "Cuddling during winter season. Very important. Can't skip it or the Christmas spirits get mad."
"That's a bluff." His voice is flat but I can hear the hint of amusement underneath.
"I'd argue with you about the validity of winter cuddling traditions," I say, letting my eyes drift closed because keeping them open is getting harder. "But my head hurts too much for proper debate. So you'll just have to trust me on this one."
I pout. I know I'm pouting. Can feel my bottom lip sticking out in what's probably the most pathetic expression ever.
Then I blink my eyes open—just barely, just enough to look at him through my lashes. The puppy dog eyes. The ultimate Omega weapon that I absolutely hate using but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I hear him sigh. A long, defeated sound.
"Omegas are dangerous," he mutters, but he's moving toward the bed. Actually moving.
I feel the mattress dip as he sits on the edge. Hear the rustle of fabric as he takes off his boots—being careful and quiet about it. Then he's lifting the sheets, slipping underneath, scooting across the bed to settle next to me.
Victory! I won! The stubborn Alpha who doesn't cuddle is currently in my bed preparing to cuddle. This is the best thing that's happened all day aside from the head trauma. Actually, maybe better than the head trauma. Definitely better than the head trauma.
I smirk in triumph even though my head is killing me and exhaustion is pulling me back under.
I turn toward him, snuggling into his side without asking permission. Just burrow right into his space like I belong there. Like I have every right to be pressed against him in my tiny bed in my Christmas pajamas with my head still pounding.
He's rigid at first. Tense. Every muscle locked up like he doesn't know what to do with an Omega voluntarily pressing against him. Like physical affection without strings attached is a foreign concept he's never encountered before.
His scent wraps around me completely now—cedar smoke and dark chocolate and gunpowder and safety. So much safety it makes my chest ache. Like nothing bad can happen as long as I'm in his arms. Like all the terrible things in my life can't touch me here. Like I'm finally, finally protected.
I've never felt this before. This bone-deep sense of security. With Kael's pack I was always on edge, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always wondering when they'd decide I wasn't worth the hassle anymore. But this? This feels different. Real. Like maybe I could trust it.
But slowly, gradually, he relaxes. His arm comes around me, tucking me closer against his chest like I'm something precious that needs protecting.
His other hand moves to my hair, running through the strands with gentle, soothing motions that make me want to purr.
Like he's trying to calm me down even though I'm already half-asleep.
Like taking care of me is important to him.
It feels good. Better than good. It feels right in a way I can't explain and shouldn't try to because my brain is too fuzzy from pain medication and exhaustion.
Like puzzle pieces clicking together. Like coming home after being lost for a really long time.
Like finding something I didn't even know I was missing.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Regular and reassuring and alive. His body heat seeps into me, chasing away the cold that's been living in my bones for months. Years, maybe.
I'm dozing off. In and out. Consciousness slipping away in gentle waves.
When I surface again—could be minutes or hours later, time is meaningless—I'm comforted by the deep snores coming from the culprit who claimed he couldn't sleep.
Theo is snoring. Actually snoring. Deep, rhythmic breaths that rumble through his chest and vibrate against my cheek. The man who's 'not good at sleeping' is currently dead to the world and making sounds that suggest he's having the best sleep of his life.
The irony is not lost on me. Makes me want to laugh but I'm too tired and my head still hurts and honestly I'm just grateful he's resting.
It gives me some odd sense of peace. Some strange comfort knowing that I helped him sleep even if it was just by being stubborn about cuddling traditions.
I let myself drift off again, held safe in his arms, surrounded by his scent and the steady sound of his breathing.
But in that liminal space between sleep and waking, reality starts creeping back in. The questions I've been avoiding. The situation I don't understand.
Why are three Alphas in my apartment? Why did Charlotte say I have a pack now? What happened while I was unconscious? How am I going to afford the repairs? What does any of this mean?
Tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow. In the morning when my head doesn't feel like it's splitting open and I can think clearly. When I can have actual conversations instead of just accepting everything at face value because I'm too out of it to question anything.
Tomorrow I'm going to have to confront all of this. Figure out what's happening. Understand why these Alphas care. Deal with the flooding and the damage and the money I don't have. Face whatever complicated situation I've stumbled into.
But for now, for tonight, I let myself just be. Let myself be held. Let myself feel safe. Let myself enjoy the comfort of an Alpha who doesn't cuddle cuddling me like I'm something precious.
I fall asleep properly this time, knowing in the morning I'm going to have to confront all of this. Knowing reality is waiting. But for now, wrapped in cedar smoke and dark chocolate and safety, I can rest.